


Another Dark and Stormy Night

by alyjude_sideburns



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Case Fic, Challenge Response, Drama, Established Relationship, Halloween, M/M, Post-Series, Supernatural Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-07
Updated: 2014-02-07
Packaged: 2018-01-09 00:08:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,874
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1139105
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alyjude_sideburns/pseuds/alyjude_sideburns
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's Halloween; and things are dark and stormy--literally.  This is a sequel to "Stormy, Stormy Night".</p>
            </blockquote>





	Another Dark and Stormy Night

**Author's Note:**

> This was written in 2005 for the Sentinel Secrets challenge. The prompt: a Halloween theme. Revised in 2011

 

 

**Another Dark and Stormy Night by alyjude**

 

"I don't fucking believe this. It's Halloween and again with the dark and stormy night. I mean, come on. How the hell are kids ever going to get their candy? Two years in a row with this crap is two years too many, even for the Pacific Northwest."  
  
Blair walked over to the window and looked out at the darkness beyond. Rain, rain, and more rain--with gale-force winds thrown in for good measure. And of course, the requisite lightning and thunder, just in case some folks were missing the part about it being a dark and stormy night.  
  
Rain slapped against the window with a ferociousness that screamed, "Let me in!" and Blair stepped back as if believing, for a moment, that it could somehow succeed in shooting its way through the glass. Smiling wryly, he moved forward again.  
  
He could just see his reflection staring back at him and he frowned. The man in the window frowned back. Goddamned mimic. He finally turned away and faced the living room again. He stayed where he was, eyes roaming over the all-too-familiar room. His home.  
  
His and Jim's.  
  
And it was so damn cold. He had the heater up but it wasn't doing a very good job of spreading warmth. Of course, standing next to the window like this wasn't helping. His gaze dropped to the table and the smattering of papers that covered its surface. Application, information sheets, guide book, letters of recommendation... all the necessary and required "stuff" that would get him into the Police Academy.  
  
The application was blank, and it was that fact that probably contributed to the fact that his home was cold and Jim was at work tonight.  
  
Jim was running away again. In heavy denial. But Blair could hardly wag a finger in blame; after all, he was doing a bang-up job of denying facts himself.  
  
And damn it, they hadn't had sex in over three weeks.  
  
*****  
  
"Do we have a name?" Jim asked as he looked down at the body.  
  
Connor nodded as, with a gloved hand, she slipped a blue leather wallet back into the plastic bag she held. "Amy Caulder. Owns a small, quaint little coffee shop over on Fifteenth. I've actually been there." She looked down at the body, shivered a bit, and said, "But I wouldn't recognize her... as she is now."  
  
Jim glanced at the plastic-bagged purse and wallet in Connor's hand and said, "I assume that's Miss Caulder's and thus explains how you've identified her?"  
  
Connor gave herself a small shake and said, "Oh, yeah. It was over by that trash can along with her missing shoe."  
  
Jim, his expression one of intense concentration, continued to stare at the bagged purse. Finally he said, "Amy Caulder... why is that name so familiar?" He scrubbed a hand over his face and added almost as an afterthought, "Fifteenth Street...."  
  
Connor knew better than to say anything. She just waited. It was pouring, cold, windy and basically hellish.  Having to go out on such a night, enter a flooded alley in order to investigate a probable murder--with Jim Ellison--wasn't high on her list of to-do things.   But to prod Jim now would only make matters worse.  She huddled within her raincoat, the hood shielding her somewhat. She was damn grateful for this particular alley, with its extended slanted roofs that kept the worst of the storm away from them... and the body. She snuck a quick look at Jim and pursed her lips. He looked like hell. Had, in fact, looked like hell for several days.  
  
She'd been back to work for over three weeks now and was well aware of how hard things had been for Jim and Sandy. She rubbed her shoulder absently, feeling a memory of the pain she'd experienced when the bullet that had gone through Simon, had then slammed through her. She never had asked anyone where the damn thing had finally ended up but Rafe had told her that it had narrowly missed Sandy as it shot through the door frame.  
  
"Dear God," Jim suddenly said.  
  
"Ellison?" She touched his arm lightly. "What it is?"  
  
"Amy Caulder. She was our witness last year. The Blue Suit Killer, remember?"  
  
"I wasn't-- I was still in Australia last year, Jim," she said softly.  
  
He turned to look at her, his blue eyes dark with an emotion that made her shiver in dread.  
  
"That's right. That's right," he said, his voice strained. "Blue Suit Killer, murdered several people like this. Cold case now. He... he went after Sandburg but didn't... never touched him. Left a note, though. Said someday, maybe, he'd be back. Told me to... told me to take care of Blair."  
  
Even as Jim spoke, he was reaching into his pocket and pulling out his cell phone. He turned away from the center of the alley, seeking even more protection from the rain, and flipped his cell open. He punched in the speed-dial number for home.  
  
*****  
  
"I can't stay here one more minute," Blair said to the empty loft. "Gotta get out." With that, he hurried to the door, took down his rain coat, slipped it on, grabbed his keys and headed out. He didn't bother to turn out the one light, his need to escape too great.  
  
He paused briefly at the lobby door, the weather outside a deterrent only for a second. He pushed the door open, no easy task thanks to the wind, and stepped outside.  
  
Once on the sidewalk, he paused again. The street was flooded, the water washing over the curb, obscuring it completely. Taking the Volvo was out. It probably wouldn't start, just on principle, anyway. He turned to his left and started to walk - against the wind.  
  
*****  
  
//"Ellison here. Unable to come to the phone. Leave a message for either myself or Sandburg."//  
  
"Chief, pick up, it's important," Jim said into the phone. "Pick up now."  
  
He waited, his fingers clenching around the small phone, but nothing happened. The beep sounded again and, angry, he ended the call. "Where the hell could he be on a night like this? When I left, he had no fucking plans."  
  
"What do you want to do, Jim?" Connor asked gently.  
  
Jim turned to her, his expression suddenly that of a lost man. "I... we need to get to the loft, try and find Blair. Now."  
  
"Then that's what we'll do," she said without hesitation. "Rafe can handle the crime scene, but you might want to call Simon. And if you think Sandy's in danger, maybe we should get a squad car over there? One might be in the area."  
  
"Right... good. Good. Will you take care of this and getting a car over to Prospect? I'm going back to the truck and call Simon."  
  
She nodded but he was already walking away from her.  
  
*****  
  
"All right, I'm a fool. I'm wet and cold--which goes nicely with a dark and stormy night--and I'm stupid," Blair muttered into the rain and getting a mouthful of water for his efforts.  
  
Blair shook his head in wonder, but he didn't turn back. Up ahead, he spotted the neon sign for Donohue's and decided a nice hot drink, liberally laced with alcohol, might be just the ticket. Forging ahead, he made his way through the rain and flooded sidewalk to the pub. He yanked open the door and almost fell inside, grateful that the place was even open.  
  
*****  
  
//"I'll have a car on its way in minutes, Jim."//  
  
"Connor's taking care of that, Simon."  
  
//"Then stop by here on your way and pick me up. I'll be in front, you'll barely need to slow down."//  
  
"Simon--"  
  
//"Pick me up, Detective, I'm on the way. Don't make me stand out there in the pouring rain. I'm still less than a hundred percent."//  
  
"I'll be there in twenty," Jim said flatly.  
  
//"More like thirty or forty in this weather. Call me when you're five away."//  
  
"Will do."  
  
//"He's okay, Jim. Sandburg's okay."//  
  
"Right," Jim said, not believing it in the least.  
  
*****  
  
The place wasn't empty, which surprised Blair. Okay, there were only... what, five or six customers?  But still, that was five or six more than this weather should generate. He took off his rain coat, shook his head, ran his fingers through the wet, straggly mess, and finally hung his coat on one of the pegs by the door.  
  
Donohue's was an Irish pub that Jim and Blair often frequented, thanks to their superb corned beef and cabbage, not to mention their stellar fish and chips. Noting that the small booth in the corner that he and Jim usually took was empty, he chose the one next to it. Sliding in, he settled into the comfortable leather, slid the napkin out from under one of the table settings, and wiped at his face.  
  
"What can I get you tonight, Blair?"  
  
"Hey, Molly. For now, I think an Irish coffee should do the trick. I may order food later, though."  
  
"You got it. You expecting Mr. Hunk?"  
  
Blair shook his head. "Nope, just me tonight. Sorry."  
  
"Hey, you're what I call a 'tasty tid-bit', Blair. And that's just as good as a hunk--maybe better."  
  
She gave him a saucy wink and headed back to the bar, leaving a genuine smile on his face.  
  
He sat back, closed his eyes, and pondered his future. A future that might--or might not--include becoming a cop. A real one. A gun-carrying, badge-toting, donut-eating, Miranda-quoting cop.  
  
And Jim's real partner.  
  
And a pig. An enforcer.  
  
A guardian.  
  
Protect and serve.  
  
Protect Jim.  
  
But... that meant carrying. And he was a self-proclaimed fraud. There'd be hell to pay for everyone involved--especially Jim and Simon--if he were suddenly to be given a badge after only a few weeks at the Academy. And therein lay his real dilemma.  
  
And the wedge that had inserted itself between him and Jim.  
  
"Excuse me, but don't I know you?"  
  
Blair opened his eyes to find himself looking up at a man about Jim's age. He had jet black hair cut close to his head and chocolate brown eyes currently crinkled up with his grin.  
  
"I... don't think so, sorry," Blair said, not at all certain that he didn't know the man.  
  
"No, I'm sure we've met. Maybe... at Rainier?"  
  
"I... I'm sure not," he finally said. He might not be certain about who this guy was, but he sure as hell knew that he didn't want to get into any conversation about his past.  
  
"Okay, I know I've been gone for quite some time, but I'm sure... wait, I've got it. Blair Sandburg, right? Hargrove Hall?"  
  
Blair didn't have a chance to say anything because the man slid into the booth. Astonished, Blair found himself speechless and staring.  
  
"I can't believe my luck," the stranger said. "I've been in Europe for the last five years, I'm one day back and I run into you. Amazing."  
  
Blair found speech. "I seem to be suffering a memory lapse. Or maybe my brain is water logged, but I don't remember you--and I apologize for that."  
  
"Oh, you wouldn't. I mean, sure, I introduced myself after your lecture, but so did several others. You'd just come back from six weeks with the... Yarubas... yeah, that was the name of the tribe. The Yarubas. I remember being totally enthralled with your account of your time with them. Especially since you were just a kid."  
  
"I was twenty-four," Blair said, almost indignantly.  
  
Laughing, the man said, "Sorry, but to me, you were a kid."  
  
At that moment, Molly walked up with Blair's drink. She set it down in front of him and, addressing the stranger, said, "Can I get you something, sir?"  
  
"I'll have what he's having, thanks."  
  
She nodded, gave Blair a look that clearly telegraphed her displeasure at the thought that he might be cheating on "Mr. Hunk" and then flounced off.  
  
Blair covered up his grin by taking a sip of his coffee, Bailey's and whipped cream drink.  
  
And then it hit him.  
  
No one had "introduced" themselves to him after his lecture. He'd talked to a few fellow students who'd been in attendance before heading over to Eli's party, but that was it. He couldn't remember meeting anyone he hadn't known and it hadn't exactly been a major lecture populated by the whole university. He stalled for time by taking another sip.  
  
As he did, the stranger said, "By the way, my name is Dan. Dan Peterson. Sorry. Should have said it earlier."  
  
Suddenly cold, Blair wrapped his hands around the tall mug for warmth as his mind demanded an answer to how "Dan Peterson" had known about the lecture--about the Yarubas.  
  
A memory intruded, pushing its way to the forefront of his consciousness. Last year--Halloween.

  
//"How do you know these things?"

"I know lots of useless stuff like that. I'm an anthropologist."

"Ah, that explains it. So are these Yaruba people for real?"

"Yep. I've been there. They're an amazing tribe. Very superstitious, and they worshipped more deities then Rainier has students. They're very artistic as well. God, you should see their sculptures. Absolutely incredible."//

Blair knew who was seated next to and it wasn't some guy named Dan Peterson or Brian McGinty, the neighbor he'd thought he'd been talking to about the Yarubas last Halloween. The same man who turned out to be a stone cold killer.

"Well, Dan," he said with a bright smile, "it's good to see you 'again'. Especially on a night like this when the last thing I expected was to run into anyone, let alone someone I knew - or should remember."

Peterson laughed at that and nodded. "I know what you mean."

Before either could say anything else, Molly reappeared with Peterson's drink. She set it down in front of him--a bit more forcefully than waitress etiquette would have suggested--and shot Blair another angry look before heading back to the bar.

"Wow, what's her problem?"

"No clue," Blair said. "Would you excuse me a moment? I'm going to make a trip to the men's room." He started out of the booth but Peterson clamped a hand over his arm--tightly.

"I don't think so, Blair. How did I trip myself up?"

Blair found that he couldn't move his arm. The strength of the... of whatever was sitting next to him... was incredible. He thought the bone might break.

"And before you think of getting help from anyone in this place, think again. I'll kill them all."

Blair could feel his heart pounding, could feel it in his chest, his throat and his neck and he was pretty damn sure everyone in the place could hear it. He also made a note to himself for the future--should he have one--that from now on, on dark and stormy nights, he'd lock himself in a closet and not come out until the sun.

And where the hell were sentinels when you fucking needed them, anyway? Not to mention big, bad, broad, police captains?

"So how did I slip up, Blair?" Peterson whispered.

"Yarubas," Blair managed to say. "And the lecture.  It was small and intimate. There was no one there I didn't know."

"Damn. I must be slipping. No matter." He looked around and, satisfied that no one was paying any attention to them, said, "Now we're going to get up and walk out of here, Blair. If you do anything you shouldn't, try anything you shouldn't, everyone in this place will die, and I think you know I can accomplish that. You understand?"

"I understand." Like he had a choice?

Blair started to slide to his left but Peterson tightened his hold. "No, Blair, we'll go out on my side--together. I'll keep my hand on your arm.  And remember; the safety, well-being and future of these people is in your hands."

Slowly Peterson started to move to his right, Blair having no choice but to follow.

When they stood up, Peterson took out a twenty and dropped it on the table before waving a cheery goodbye to Molly, who was studying them from her spot behind the bar. "Wave goodbye to the pretty lady, Blair," he whispered, his lips barely moving.

Blair waved; and threw in a smile for good measure.

A moment later, and without his raincoat, they were outside.

*****

Simon felt his cane being taken from him by Jim and he managed, somehow, to quickly slide into the passenger side of the truck. Before he had the door closed, Jim was peeling away from the curb.

"You lied," Simon said as he wiped his face with his sleeve. "You slowed down."

Jim grunted and took the corner on two wheels. Simon was amazed, considering the state of the flooded street.

"Don't get us killed, Jim. We can't help Blair if we're trapped in this junk heap and underwater," he admonished mildly.

"Not a junk heap," Jim said tersely.

"Right. My apologies."

*****

Peterson's grip on Blair's arm was like steel and Blair's fingers were now numb. Of course, if he was going to die, numb fingers were probably the least of his worries.

Damn, he would have liked to tell Jim that he loved him, one more time. He hadn't said it in three weeks and Jim was going to feel terrible. At least Blair hoped, in a perverse way, that Jim would feel terrible--which was really a terrible way to feel. He was a jerk and this was undoubtedly his punishment. Well deserved, really.

On the other hand, if he got out of this alive and in reasonable shape, he'd fill out the application, damn the torpedoes and full steam ahead. Right after a really glorious, sweaty, semen-sharing, male-rutting, mind-blowing session of sex with Jim.

Suddenly he was shoved into an alley and the steel hand released him but it did him no good because, of course, there was no where to go. Peterson fisted his shirt and started shoving him backwards until he was against a wall or a fence, or something that was equally hard and unyielding.

Peterson leaned in until his face was only an inch from Blair's and whispered, "Last year, you were so very alive. I couldn't do it, you see? But this year, this year... there's a surrender about you, a release, and I have no choice. I want to do this, need to do this."

Blair could barely see the man through the sheets of hard rain, but he knew the guy was wrong. There was no surrender in him. He might be confused, maybe a bit hurt and... well, maybe... sort of... kind of... lost, but he had not surrendered, let alone released anything--except maybe some gas, thanks to two Macho Burritos from Pedro's.

He really needed to do something about his sick humor. It really wasn't appreciated by anyone, including him. But that could wait. He had something else to do.

Blair did his own leaning in, as best as one could lean given his circumstances, and hissed out, "I surrender nothing, asswipe. And you know zilch about me and nothing is going to happen in this alley; other than you're going to get that ass of yours kicked from here to wherever you come from."

Shock, and the slightest bit of doubt, flickered in the dark eyes currently devouring him with their blood-hungry gaze. It was enough. Blair brought his knee up and into Peterson's balls--at least, he hoped they were his balls and not some weird-assed alien appendage--and the man's hand dropped from his shirt as he doubled over.

Cool, Blair thought. The guy can be hurt. He balled up his fist and let it fly. His knuckles connected with the man's jaw causing Peterson's head to whip sharply to the left as Blair shouldered him out of the way and started running for the street.

*****

Simon could see Jim's building through the rain and sighed in relief. He'd really had his doubts about arriving alive and in one piece. Jim started to slow down even as he cocked his head to listen. A moment later he gunned the engine and the truck took off, shooting water in a five foot arc on each side.

"Jim?"

"Alley, down the street. He has Blair."

"Well, fuck. Can't you hurry this thing along?"

*****

When Blair felt the jerk-back, he swore to himself that he would cut his fucking hair at the earliest possible moment. In the meantime, he flew backwards, Peterson's fingers wrapped securely around a nice hunk of said hair. He stumbled, feet tangling with each other, and he went down.

Peterson was on him instantly. He blanketed Blair's body with his own and, in spite of Blair's fighting him, managed to grasp his wrists and hold his arms down.

Blair looked up into the angry, crazed face above him and thought, for a split-second, that he was just a crazy killer, like so many that seemed to gravitate to Cascade. But then the whites of his eyes seemed to turn red and Blair felt a strange lethargy stealing over him. He couldn't seem to tear his gaze from Peterson's but knew instinctively that if he didn't, he'd die.

*****

Peterson hitched himself higher up on Blair's body and his jacket fell open, revealing the gleaming silver handle of a knife. He felt the young man beneath him go limp and he carefully released one wrist in order to reach in and grab the knife.

*****

Something flashed in the darkness and it was enough to break the spell those red, hungry eyes had on Blair. He blinked and saw the knife as Peterson touched it to his lips. This was Blair's only chance, he knew it.

With a strength he wouldn't have believed possible, he surged upward, throwing the man from his body. The knife went flying, spinning endlessly through the cold, night air. Blair managed to get to his feet but Peterson was between him and the alley opening - and he was already recovering and straightening. A clatter behind him signaled the landing of the knife and Blair realized that while Peterson stood between him and freedom - he stood between Peterson and his weapon of choice. The man across from him smiled and Blair was suddenly reminded of Jack Nicholson as the Joker in the first Batman movie. He didn't like the grin one single bit.

"You are stronger than I anticipated, Blair. Stronger than any of the others."

He held out his hand in a beckoning motion and for the briefest of moments, Blair thought Peterson expected him to take the offered hand.  Then something flew past his head; a flash of white, and Blair realized it was the fucking knife, miraculously soaring through the space to end up... in Peterson's hand.

Blair took a fighting stance. He wasn't going down easy.

 

*****

The thunder and lightning had picked up in ferocity, almost to the point that Simon thought he'd go both deaf and blind. He couldn't believe Jim was handling it, and yet, as he risked a glance at him, he found only a completely focused, tense man . The headlights of the truck were doing nothing in the way of illuminating the street during the brief respites from the lightning, but a flash of neon identified Donohue's. Well, thank God, Simon thought. At least he knew where they were.

At that moment, Jim turned the wheel sharply to the right - so sharply in fact - Simon's door flew open. Rain coursed in, hastened by the wind, which had an eerie pitch to it. As Simon fought to get the door before it was torn off the hinges, Jim brought the truck to a screeching halt. Simon glanced up and the sight that met his eyes chased all thought of rescuing the door from his mind.

The headlights, combined with a flash of the brightest lightning Simon had ever witnessed, illuminated a tableau that would forever be etched on his mind.

Blair stood several yards into what Simon realized was an alley. His knees were bent, head low, expression one of concentration and resolve. There was a bloody gash across his cheek, his hair was flying in sharp, twisted curls around his face and, what proved to be the most surprising, he appeared to be... growling, white teeth bared.

And Blair wasn't alone. A man, also bent at the knees, his back to them, stood a few feet from Blair. Simon could see his arms, which were held slightly away from the man's body and, in the right hand, a knife--long, serrated edge colored an almost bright white neon thanks to the lightning.

Before Simon could take another breath, Jim was out of the truck and running full tilt toward the two men. At the exact same moment, another clap of thunder, one so loud the ground shook, sounded directly overhead.

The man with the knife took a giant leap forward, hand raised high. Blair moved then, like a football player charging his way through the defensive line of the opposing team. Shoulders forward, head down, he barreled into the man and both went down.

Simon jumped out of the truck and took off even as he heard a voice yelling, "Sandburg!" A voice sounding remarkably like his own.

*****

This was it. He watched the knife as Peterson raised his hand, ready to make his move on him, but he beat Peterson to it by rushing him instead. Just before their bodies made contact, Blair thought he heard his name shouted out.

They went down with Blair on top, but he was worried when he realized that the hand holding the knife was free. He held on to Peterson while bringing back his own right arm prior to hitting the man again, but he couldn't help but notice the knife above him had started downward. This was not good. He started to let go, to roll away, but Peterson grabbed him with his other hand and held him in place. Blair tried to twist away but couldn't. His back was vulnerable and he knew it was just a matter of seconds....

Silence.

No rain, no wind, no lightning or thunder. Blair blinked back the wetness that dripped from his hair and eyelashes and there was a sound....

Gunfire. Sharp, crystal clear, followed by a dull thunk and a groan as the knife was literally shot out of Peterson's hand.

Blair felt his release and immediately took advantage by rolling off Peterson and getting quickly to his feet. He was breathing harshly, feeling wild, his pulse racing. He waited for Peterson to make another move and he wasn't disappointed. He never gave a thought to the sound of the gun shot - until Peterson moved toward him, fingers reaching for his throat.

"Freeze! Cascade PD!"

Blair knew the voice and something inside of him let go. The wildness drained away, leaving him simply breathless.

Peterson stopped, smiled, lowered his arms. He turned slowly and, with the glare of the headlights in his face, said, "Detective Ellison. We finally meet."

*****

"Detective Ellison. We finally meet."

Jim's heart was in his throat as he stared at the man now facing him. He barely remembered the last few minutes, having acted on pure instinct and adrenalin, and he knew his hands were trembling slightly, but he doubted anyone other than another sentinel would have noticed. Behind the Blue Suit Killer stood Blair, chest heaving, hair in his face, hands clenched into fists. But he was alive.

"You didn't do as I instructed. You didn't take care of him," the killer said softly, his voice soothing and strange. "The life I so prized and left intact last time is so much _less_ now and I couldn't resist him, Detective.  But I told you I'd be back, didn't I?"

Jim felt woozy as he listened and the trembling in his hands became more pronounced. He tried to blink and couldn't.

"Actually, I'm glad you failed, Detective. I wanted him so badly last year--it was such a temptation, you know? But his life force was an entity unto itself and I dared not touch him. But now, all bets are off. Now, he's mine and you can't stop me."

*****

"... Now, he's mine and you can't stop me."

Simon limped up behind Jim and the killer's last words sent chills up and down his spine. He had his gun out and he trained it on the man, the barrel pointing at a spot in the center of the man's forehead. He waited.

*****

Blair tried to control his breathing as he found himself staring into Jim's face. No one ever looked more beautiful.

Or more... spacey.

What the hell was happening? Now that he was paying attention--and thank God for the headlights of Jim's truck--Jim looked drugged.

Oh, god, Peterson's voice... and his eyes. He was staring at Jim and talking to him and goddamn it he was doing something to him. Panicking, Blair knew he had to do something, but what? Just then, Simon ran up behind Jim, gun out.

Okay, this was good. Reinforcements.

Peterson was talking again and now... now Simon seemed off. His mouth was open, eyes at half mast. Well, shit.

"You can't stop me, Detective. Why don't you put down that heavy gun?"

"Jim, don't listen to him. Shut him out, Jim. You can do it. And look anywhere but at his eyes. Listen to me, Jim. Listen to me."

*****

"Listen to me, Jim. Listen to me."

The beloved voice penetrated Jim's fogged brain and he concentrated, wanting nothing but to hear more of it.

"Lower the gun, Detective. You don't need it anymore. In fact, why don't you hand it to me?"

"Jim, Jim, listen to me, not him. Concentrate, man. Look at his forehead, chin, mouth, anywhere but his eyes."

Jim shifted his gaze to the man's forehead and felt immediate release. It was like clouds parting and revealing a bright, warm sun. Tightening his grip on his weapon, he said in a low and dangerous voice, "I want you on the ground now. Face down, arms away from your body. Do it, and do it now."

Peterson laughed an ugly laugh. "You can't win, Detective."

"NOW!"

Jim could see the seed of doubt spring up in the man's eyes. Without looking away, he said, "Chief, get yourself over here by moving around him without getting anywhere near him." He was relieved when Blair started to move.

Behind him, he could both feel and hear Simon's breathing and knew he was ready for anything.

Blair was now standing beside him and for the first time since realizing who they were dealing with, he felt in control. Which was a good time for the killer to make his move, and he did.

With surprising speed and agility, he lunged for Blair. Jim never hesitated and neither did Simon. Both men fired.

As the bullet left Jim's gun, one lone flash of lightning lit up the night sky... and struck the bullet, which struck the killer--right between the eyes. Simon's bullet followed right on the heels of Jim's.

*****

Blair watched Peterson's body drop, its eyes wide open as if in shock. Jim started to move forward, but something made Blair reach out and stop him. At the same instant, another bolt of lightning flashed jaggedly downward, striking the dead man.

When the smoke cleared, there was nothing there. Nothing at all.

*****

"Did you ever see a movie called 'The Bad Seed'?" Blair asked from where he was sitting on the tailgate of Jim's truck.

"No, Chief," Jim said softly. "I don't think I ever did. Why?"

"The little girl in it is a murderer and totally without conscience. She dies during a rainstorm when she's hit by lightning. I don't know if her body disappeared though."

Not liking the lack of emotion in his partner's voice, Jim placed his hands on Blair's thighs and said, "It's over, Chief. I don't know what he was, but nature took care of him in its own way--and I can't say I'm sorry."

Looking past Jim at the number of police cars that had converged on the alley, Blair said, "How do we explain it?"

"We don't.  Simon does."

"Poor Simon."

"How's the cheek?"

Blair fingered the bandage that now graced his right cheek and said, "Fine. Don't even feel it."

Jim nodded. "Good." He squeezed Blair's thighs, for what reason he didn't know other than it made him feel better. "I love you, Chief," he suddenly added. Again, because it made him feel better to say it.

Blair looked up at him and smiled. "I know. And I love you." He put his hand over Jim's. "Guess we've been pretty fucked up lately."

"A bit. But it's nothing we can't handle. I figure if we can take down a... whatever the hell he was... we can solve whatever's going on with us. Don't you?"

"Hell, yeah."

"Blair, I don't care what you do--scratch that, of _course_ I care. But only in the sense that whatever makes you happy, makes me happy. I know deep inside that you'd make a good cop because you already are, but I also know--"

"Jim?"

"That... what?"

"Shut up."

"Oh. Okay. I can do that."

"I'll fill out the application when we get home. But then... then I vote on the wildest sex of our lives. Or we could do the sex first and then I could fill out the application. Or we could just indulge ourselves all the rest of the night and I could fill it out in the morning, or--"

"Blair?"

"We could... what?"

"Shut up."

"Oh. Okay. I can do that."

Jim sighed happily and then said, "This I do know, Chief. Next year, at Halloween? We're going to Vegas. Or Tacoma. Or Fort Dick, California or--"

"Fort Dick?"

"Or Porkey, Pennsylvania, or maybe Quiggleville, or Romance, Arkansas, or--"

"Ooh, I like the sound of that one."

"Or maybe Spread Eagle, Wisconsin--"

"That one is ever better, Jim."

"Or Hell, Michigan--"

"We should probably skip that one--"

"Or Toad Suck, Arkansas--"

"And that one--"

"What the hell are you two doing?"

Without taking his eyes off of Blair, Jim said, "We're trying to decide where to spend next Halloween, since we know it won't be here, Simon."

"Ah. Then I suggest... Boring, Oregon."

Jim and Blair looked at each other, pointed their fingers, and said together, "That's the one."

The End

 

  
**Disclaimer:** All characters from **The Sentinel** are the property of Pet Fly Productions, Danny Bilson and Paul DeMeo. Characters from any other television show, movie or book are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. No money is being made from this work. We believe the works contained in this archive to be transformative in nature and therefore protected under the 'fair use' provisions of copyright law.

This story archived at <http://asr3.slashzone.org/archive/viewstory.php?sid=1288>


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